


Grand Theft Bunny

by Million_Moments



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Gen, Humor, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you need to redefine what is wasting police time</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grand Theft Bunny

Dwayne’s voice came over the radio, “Car one, we’ve just had a very distressed child on the phone and it sounded like she was trying to report a missing person, possibly a kidnapping, address is close to your location - can you respond?”

Since for once Richard was driving, Camille leaned forward and grabbed the radio, “Roger that, Dwayne, what is the address?” Listening as he reeled it off, she suddenly leaned over and pulled the steering wheel into a hard left. Richard yelped. He didn’t like yelping, it wasn’t what senior officers were supposed to do.

“What did you do that for?” He asked once he felt back in control of the vehicle.

“Sorry, but if we had missed that turning it would have been a long way before there was anywhere we could do a u turn in this thing, and there is no time to waste in a child abduction.”

“You are jumping to conclusions,” Richard admonished her. “We are just going to find out what has happened, that is all.”

“I would prefer the phrase acting in a precautionary manner,” Camille shot back. “Next right!” Richard had to brake rather hard to meet her instructions. They were really heading up into the hills here. “You should drop down a gear,” Camille instructed as the Defender struggled. Richard let out a short breath, but followed her instructions, if the thing stalled or rolled backwards down the slope she may never let him drive again. “Don’t you think we should assume the worst and act accordingly, rather than risk wasting time?”

“I’m inclined to agree,” he admitted. “How much further is it?”

“We’re nearly there.”

 

* * *

 

 

They pulled up in front of a pretty little place. A forty something woman was on her knees in the front garden, tying tomato vines to their canes to stop them toppling. She eyed them with surprise as they entered her garden, brushing her stained hands on her khakis and getting to her feet to greet them. This was not a woman panicked by a missing child. So, they either had the wrong address…or the nature of the call was misinterpreted.

“Can I help you?” The woman asked.

“I’m Detective Inspector Richard Poole, this is Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey,” Nods were exchanged rather than handshakes, since the efforts at stain removal had not been successful. “Is this your property Mrs…?”

“Miss,” she corrected. “Miss Belinda Owen. And yes it is. Is there a problem?”

Richard was about to explain about the call they had received to the property when a child, moving at such speed it was not possible to identify their gender, came tearing out of the house, grasped Richard around the wrist and tugged sharply. “COME INSIDE AND I WILL GIVE YOU MY STATEMENT!” was shouted at him. Richard didn’t want to hurt the child by physically stopping him or her (tone of voice provided no clue when they were this young) so allowed himself to be dragged a little way up the garden path.

“Courtney!” Miss Owen called out, solving the mystery of the child’s gender. The purple tutu was probably a good clue, but after the mix up over Miss Owen’s marital status Richard hadn’t liked to make assumptions. Fidel had told him that the boys at Rosie’s day care spent more time dressing up as princesses than any of the little girls. And somewhere, hopefully lost, there was a picture of him in his mother’s high heels with badly painted fingernails. “What _is_ going on here?”

Courtney stared at the ground and eventually volunteered, “ _Somebody_ called the police to report that Laila is missing. She was stolen away!”

“Do you have a child who is missing, Miss Owen?” Camille asked, even though the answer was pretty obvious by now.

“No,” Miss Owen said with a sigh. “I have one missing common sense, but I do not have one who is missing. Courtney did you really call the police about a missing rabbit?”

A rabbit. Had they seriously rushed all the way out here for a pet _rabbit_? There were unsolved cases on his desk, including one the Commissioner kept calling him about every twenty minutes because whilst it remained unsolved it was ‘bad for the island’s reputation as a holiday destination’. And he hadn’t had a cup of tea since he got up this morning, and it was nearly 11 for Christ’s sake.

At last, Courtney let go of his wrist. She crossed her arms, “You are supposed to report emergencies to the police! Now come inside, I made tea.” And without a backwards glance, she turned on her heel and marched inside.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Miss Owen turned to them. “Trust me, my daughter will be punished for her misappropriation of police resources.”

Before Richard could reply Camille stepped up next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It is okay Miss Owen, sometimes children get confused, but it is good your daughter does know she can rely on the police for assistance. Isn’t that right Detective Inspector Poole.”

The hand lightly resting on his shoulder suddenly squeezed down very hard. Richard covered his second yelp of the day with a cough and said, “Yes, that is right, we always prefer children willing to approach us than afraid of us.” Given his current level of annoyance, he felt this incredibly diplomatic. Camille must have thought so to, because the pressure of her grasp relaxed.

“Your daughter seemed to think the rabbit in question,” Camille consulted her notebook. She’d actually been taking notes? “Laila, may have been stolen?”

Miss Owen shrugged, “I don’t think so. We were sure she was secured properly, which is why Courtney got it into her head Laila was taken, but who would steal a rabbit?”

“Yes, why risk the punishment? What _is_ the jail sentence for grand theft bunny at the moment Seargent?”

The sarcasm was not lost of either of the women. Whilst Camille just narrowed her eyes at him, a look he now knew would mean a lecture in the car on the way back, Miss Owen hurried to say, “Of course it is a silly idea. Now you must be very busy. Do I need to sign anything…?”

“No, that is okay Miss Owen, we can just be on our way.” Richard began to dream of that cup of tea. And a bottle of cold water. Maybe a jelly baby.

“Though, if it would help to reassure Courtney, we can stay five minutes,” Camille suggested. “The rabbit may not have been stolen, but we can fill out a report in case anybody calls in a sighting to us.”

Miss Owen glanced at him. Richard felt it wasn’t really a Detective Inspector’s job, and Miss Owen could probably just describe the bloody rabbit over the phone, but he supposed they were here. And the child had mentioned tea… “Registering lost pets is a service we provide,” he said evenly.

“Oh well then, please come inside,” she opened the door and they trudged in. “To your left!”

The living room looked like it belonged to an English country cottage rather than a Caribbean island, particularly with a tea set painstakingly laid out on a low coffee table. “When did you get all this out?” Miss Owen asked her daughter, who was kneeling on the floor next to the table. They were clearly supposed to take the sofa.

“You are supposed to offer guests refreshment,” Courtney told her mother, rolling her eyes.

“I am very aware of that, daughter dear, and perhaps I would have been more prepared to if somebody had told me we were expecting guests.”

Camille perched herself on the edge of the sofa and Richard, who would really of rather stood, felt obliged to sit down next to her. “How do you like your tea?” The girl asked Camille. Any traces of island accent were gone when Courtney addressed them, she could apparently impersonate Received Pronunciation.

Richard knew that Camille liked her tea black, strong and made of coffee. However, showing the kind of deference to children Richard had always struggled with, she smiled and said, “Milk and sugar please.”

“And mine just with milk,” Richard said quickly. He was feeling in desperate need of the tea and did not have the patience to wait to be asked. Luckily Courtney did not seem to hold it against him and he was passed a cup directly.

Richard took a grateful sip. And just about managed to swallow it. He heard a giggle smothered by a cough beside him. Peering into his cup, it became apparent there was no tea in his tea – he had been served water and milk. Cold water at that. The mixture tasted like how he imagine UHT skimmed milk would if given an additional two heat treatments. In short, it tasted of disappointment. Camille, by either prior experience or some kind of intuition, must have looked into the cup first – because she had laid it gently down in the table untouched. “Now,” she said. “Why don’t I go outside with your Mummy who can show me where Laila went missing from? You, Miss Courtney, could furnish Inspector Richard here with a description of Laila for our records.”

Richard turned to her, eyes wide. But she just smiled sweetly at him and rose from the sofa. What was Camille thinking, leaving him alone with a small girl? He could only handle Rosie on his own when she was sleeping with very little possibility of actually waking up. Miss Owen perhaps picked up on his nervousness (read: terror) and asked, “Would that be okay Inspector, er, Poole?”

“Oh he’s very good with children actually,” Camille lied smoothly. Why was she doing this? She pointed towards the kitchen, “Back garden this way, I assume?” Miss Owen nodded and led Camille off. Richard watched them leave, hands poised to push himself off the sofa and suggest they _all_ go inspect the unlikely scene of crime, but not acting because…because he didn’t want Camille to think he was _scared_ of being left alone with a little girl.

Aforementioned small girl cleared her throat, “Did you need to ask me questions about Laila, officer?”

He slowly turned her head back to the girl. “Um,” he said, racking his brain on what to say next. “Uh, do you have a recent picture of Laila?” A rabbit wasn’t a missing person, but probably easier to look at a picture than try to take a description from a child. Children were so easily distracted, she probably wasn’t even sure what colour the rabbit was.

Courtney considered his request, biting her bottom lip. “One minute!” She said loudly. She launched herself to her feet and ran into the kitchen, returning moments later with an A4 sheet clutched in her hands. She came to sit next to Richard and passed it to him. “It is a picture of Mummy and Laila.”

It wasn’t a photograph – but an artwork done by Courtney. Mixed medium, utilising crayon and highlighter pen for Miss Owen’s hair. From this, Richard could discern that Laila was a black rabbit. And, if the scale was correct, came up to the waist of an average height woman.

That was a rather terrifying thought actually. Richard sincerely hoped the picture was _not_ to scale.

“She has floppy ears, not pointy ones,” Courtney indicated.

“Ah yes,” Richard said, examining the picture as if he could totally see that. “This is very good. We can use this to, uh, confirm it is Laila if we get any reports of lost bunnies.”

Courtney stared at him, eyes wide, for a few moments. Richard shifted, cleared his throat, and asked, “Anything else you think could be pertinent, I mean, um, useful for us to know about Laila?”

“I wasted police time, didn’t I?”

The question came as a surprise. “Um, well, you probably shouldn’t have called the police station on 999. Reporting it to us is fine but you should have gone via your, er, mother. But, you know, when it is an emergency. Like, if you woke up and your mother was gone or…something,” Richard decided not to offer any other scenarios, since Courtney was looking alarmed.

“So I committed a crime? Will I go to jail?” She looked sad. Possibly sad enough to cry. Richard wasn’t sure he could cope if there were tears. When would Camille be back?

“No, you’re below the age of criminal responsibility,” Richard told her with what he hoped was a comforting smile. Courtney just knitted her eyebrows together and frowned – he probably should have guessed that anyone too young to be considered capable of committing a crime might also struggle with the concept of age of criminal responsibility. “Um, no you won’t go to jail,” he tried. “But please don’t do it again.”

“I’m sorry,” she bowed her head, shoulders slumped. “Laila is my best friend. She was given to me by Daddy…and I don’t seem him very much.”

Richard wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He wanted to ask where exactly her father was, but that seemed rude. Instead he stated simply, “And that makes you sad.”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice.

Richard considered how maudlin he would be if Harry disappeared. The lizard might be an uninvited house guest…but he wasn’t unwelcome anymore. Harry could be good company in the evening, allowed him somebody to speak his ideas to – knowing there would be no criticism or mockery. There was even a small chance Richard might have used police resources to try to track him down…and he didn’t have the excuse of being a child.

“Well, um, we forgive you,” he said. “No charges this time!” He added as a joke – though Courtney just frowned in response. “And I promise we’ll all be keeping a keen lookout for Laila. I’ll call you if we hear anything.”

“Thank you!” Said Courtney, suddenly launching herself at him and wrapping her arms around his ribs. Richard held perfectly still, holding his breath, and prayed for the hug to end. It didn’t. He cleared his throat, shifted an inch or two in his seat – but that proved too subtle for the child who ignored him resolutely. Unfortunately, it was still going on when Camille re-entered with Miss Owen.

“Um Courtney why don’t we let the Inspector go now, darling?” Miss Owen hurried across the room and detached her daughter. “They’ll need to be going now.”

Richard stood, brushing his hands down his jacket and trousers to fix the creases that had appeared after the unplanned hug. He realised he was still holding the drawing of Laila in his hand, and held it out to Courtney. “No, you can keep it, to help with the search.” She told him, hands on hips. A finger then rose to her lips and she pondered a thought, “In fact, I have even more I could give you. We could turn them into missing posters!”

Camille stepped in to rescue him, “Oh that is a lovely drawing, Courtney, Inspector Richard and I will be able to make copies of it. You keep your other pictures, but thank you so much for this one.” Somehow, she said all that without sounding the least bit sarcastic. She gave Richard a gentle push to the door, and he realised they had permission to leave at last. “It’s okay Miss Owen we can find our own way out. We will be in contact if we hear anything. I hope you find Laila.”

Camille walked off towards the door, Richard close behind. He was nearly out of the door when the image of Courtney’s face when she confessed her ‘crime’. He paused, turned around. “And I do to,” he said. Mother and daughter looked at each other and it was clear his meaning had not been understood. “Um, find your bunny rabbit. Laila. I hope you do. I’ll be on the lookout.”

 

* * *

 

 

As they walked to the car, Camille gave Richard a sidelong glance with a half-smile. It made him feel suddenly defensive. “Any signs of suspicious activity in the back garden?” he asked dryly, storming off towards the car. “Was the latch to the hutch picked, perhaps? Or wire cutters used to gain access?” Camille skipped ahead of him suddenly to reach the driver’s door before him, and then gave him an expectant look. He fished the keys out of his trousers and chucked them across at her. “Really, Camille, we should have left the first chance we got,” he said yanking open the door of the Defender. “We have better things to do than entertain the fantasies of a child.”

Camille climbed into the driver’s seat, carefully did up her seatbelt, but did not start the car. She stared straight ahead, and Richard saw her biting her lip. It was evident that she was trying not the giggle. Under duress, Richard would admit that he enjoyed making Camille laugh. But only when he had made some sarcastic comment or little joke. He didn’t like it when she was laughing _at_ him – which was evidently the case now. He crossed his arms and opened his mouth to order her to get a move on, when as if she had detected his patience running out (it wouldn’t surprise him if she could) she reached forward and started the jeep. She took an exceptionally long time checking the mirrors and then, finally pulling away from where they had parked, she said, “I don’t know why you are pretending to be so annoyed.”

“I am not _pretending_ to be annoyed,” he interrupted her. “I _am_ annoyed.”

“Oh _please_ ,” said Camille. “That girl has you wrapped around her little finger. We have all figured out by now that you are far less gruff than you would have us believe. Was it the big wide eyes or the bear hug that melted the ice in your heart?”

Richard let out a low noise of annoyance. “What?” Asked Camille. “Are you denying it? Even after you said those sweet things on the way out?”

“I can be polite, even when annoyed,” was all he said in response. Richard locked his eyes on the passing, rather dense, vegetation and decided to just ignore everything else Camille said on the topic. Was being considered sweet a good thing? He didn’t know. It wasn’t professional, ‘being sweet’, was it? But as a personality trait…weren’t modern men supposed to be good with children? Of course, he probably didn’t qualify as good with children yet. Far from it.

Camille slowed to go around a corner, “There is no point in just sitting there in silence, Sir. I’m not criticising-“

“STOP!” Richard shouted, causing Camille to do what was actually a very good emergency stop. The car didn’t even stall, but she switched off the engine anyway.

“What is it?” She asked, looking around 360 to try to figure out what was going on.

He turned to her, face serious, “Are there any native black mammals on this island?”

“What?!”

“Are there any black mammals native to the island? Or perhaps larger ground dwelling birds?” He elaborated.

“I, um, not that I know of. They’ll be feral cats about. Why are you asking?”

“As you were rounding the corner, I saw movement of something black. Pretty sure it hopped. It could be Laila.” Richard sat still for a moment, trying to bring the brief image back into his mind’s eye. Yes, that had been a hop…or possibly a pounce. He nodded to himself and undid his seatbelt. “I think it warrants further investigation.”

Camille followed him out of the car, coming up beside him as he assessed how best to climb the bank. “Sir, this is pretty thick vegetation. Plenty of places for small mammals to hide. I am not really sure we’d have much luck catching any rabbit in that lot.”

“Not like you to back down from a challenge, Camille,” Richard said, finally deciding where he should broach the slope. He placed one leg firmly on the bank half way up and transferred his weight to it. He immediately slid down. Not looking at Camille, who had given a little cough behind him, he said, “Hmm, it was a bit lower a few metres back I believe.”

Camille trailed behind him, “Sir…” He sped up his pace, still looking for a sensible place to enter the jungle. Eventually he found it. “Richard!” She said, catching up. “Maybe we should call up the Owens – the rabbit knows them and it might respond to them.”

“No, we need to at least confirm it is Laila first,” he told her, managing to scramble up. Camille leaped up lightly beside him, and Richard had to supress a sigh. When had he gotten so old? He bet Camille could still climb trees. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of getting a small child’s hopes up.” Disappointing Courtney was not an option – he’d hate to think he made her cry. What if the rabbit got eaten by some kind of large snake before they got here? He began to force his way through the vegetation towards where he thought he had seen the mystery black creature. “Right,” he said, hands on hips and looking around. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he blinked it away, it stung like hell.

Predicting Camille was about to provide further discouragement to his mission, he held up a hand requesting her silence. Richard held his breath, the better to hear any small movements that might indicate Laila was here. Or that large snake.  “Richard!” Camille hissed behind him.

“Shh! You might scare her if she is here.”

“She _is_ here,” Camille placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him slightly to the left. His eyes followed her fingers to where she was pointing. There, under some kind of large low hanging leafy branch, sat a black rabbit happily grazing away. “You were right.” Richard was impressed Laila had made it so far from the house. She was a survivor, Richard wouldn’t have made it that far in the jungle. “So, are you going to catch her?” Camille asked.

That was a good question. He supposed that was why they were in here, but Richard had never handled a rabbit before. Well, luckily this one was smaller than depicted by Courtney. He could just pick it up. He took a small step forward. Laila turned to show off her very white tail and scarpered off four feet. “Ah,” Richard said quietly. “Sneaking up on her may not be an option. Perhaps a sudden move.”

And, without stopping to think of the consequences, Richard launched himself across the gap – flying forward and attempting to grab Laila like he would have tried to grab a cricket ball before it hit the ground when he was in school. He ended up lying on his stomach on the forest floor, some kind of spiky plant working its way through his shirt and into his skin….with no rabbit. Laila sat nonchalantly staring at him, chewing thoughtfully, only a few inches away. Her nose twitched, and Richard wondered if she was laughing at him. Were rabbits capable of amusement?

Someone who was capable of amusement was his Detective Seargent, who said in a barely constrained tone, “Are you okay, Sir? Do you need any help up?” Richard took offense to that, he was not so old yet he needed to be lifted off the ground. He rolled over, tearing a small portion of his shirt as the spiky plant was detached, and sat up. Laila lopped off a little further. “Sir?” Camille prompted again.

“Right,” he said, using a handy vine to help himself up. Camille stepped forward to try to straighten his attire but he waved her away. It would have been a premature move until they actually caught the damn rabbit.

“But your bleeding,” she pointed out.

Richard glanced down and realised there was, in fact, some blood on his shirt. He swallowed hard and tried to remember if any of the vegetation on Saint Marie were poisonous. Then chastising himself for being ridiculous he said, “Just a scratch. Not like I have been shot. We need a different tactic here.”

He turned to face the rabbit in question to find she hadn’t yet hopped off any further, and continued to watch them with her twitchy, suspicious little face. “Right,” he said again, and took off his jacket.

“What are you doing?” Camille asked. “Shouldn’t we call up the family now we have confirmed it is Laila?”

“Come on Camille, what kind of police officer’s would we be if we couldn’t catch a rabbit?”

“Funny, I don’t remember covering rabbit capture at Police College,” Camille said sarcastically. “What are you doing with your jacket?” Richard had shook it out and was now approaching Laila gradually with it held open wide.

Whispering, Richard replied, “I’m going to throw it over her. Then it’ll be dark and she’ll think it’s night.”

“I thi-…” she began in a normal tone, but dropped to a whisper with a roll of her eyes when Richard hushed her. “I think that is birds.”

“It might work on rabbits as well,” he hissed back at her. Not needing a Doubting Thomas right now, Richard put her comments aside and proceeded with his plan. Judging he was now within a distance that throwing his jacket could be successful, he took a breath, aimed, and chucked it at Laila. For a moment, both Richard and Camille stared at the lump that was now covered by his jacket. It stayed still, and Richard was about to self-congratulate himself when the lump twitched. Fearing Laila would imminently escape, he once again launched himself across the gap, grabbing the rabbit bodily and bundling it up in his jacket.

“I got her!” Richard said. The rabbit kicked a bit next to his chest, but he ignored her protests. Her face was peeking out from between the folds of his jacket, so he knew she could breathe. “Here,” he said, offering the bundle to Camille. “You take her and I’ll drive us back.”

Camille stepped back, “Oh I think you have a grip on her now, we wouldn’t want to risk losing her during the transfer. I’ll drive back.” Before Richard could protest she had marched off back down the path they had created. He had no choice but to follow her, carefully, with a bunny clutched to his chest. One that every now and then would convulse in a desperate attempt to escape.

“Don’t we have some kind of box we can put her in? A rabbit cage?” Richard asked after finally reaching the car.

“Funnily enough we don’t keep those in the police car. Guess there just aren’t enough instances of grand theft bunny on Saint Marie. You can just hold her on your lap for now, and put in a request to the commissioner for that bunny travel cage when we get back to the station.” Considering _he_ was the superior officer, Richard distinctly felt like he was being given orders. Of course, he felt like that half the time he was with Camille, so it was hardly anything new. And so he found himself grimacing as they bumped along the road back to Miss Owen’s house, praying that Camille didn’t crash as he had not been able to negotiate to get his seatbelt on without letting go of the rabbit.

“Here we are!” Camille said brightly. “Oh you are going to be one popular police officer, hope you’re ready for another hug!”

Richard hadn’t considered that possibility. He wasn’t ready for another hug. He was dishevelled enough, what with the torn shirt, slight bleeding and possibly a bruise developing on his stomach from where Laila had planted a particularly large kick. Hair was stuck to his head from sweat and it wouldn’t surprise him if there was a twig or two lodged in there. “No, I’ll be waiting here, you can take Laila now. Before you leave the car, she can’t escape in here.”

“Nonsense,” Camille told him, opening her door and walking over to get his for him. “You are the hero of the hour, you deserve the thanks.”

Camille was remarkably good at ignoring him, but there was no way in his current state that Richard was handing over the rabbit. “Detective Seargent, I am ordering you to take this rabbit and return it to the rightful owners whilst I remain in the car.” Camille looked disappointed with him. It wasn’t a look he enjoyed seeing on her face – but she needed to understand he had his limits. With an expertise he hadn’t expected, she reached over and extracted Laila from within the folds of his jacket, and walked up to the front door to reunite the furry ball of trouble with her owners.

Richard stared ahead, but when a squeal of joy reached his ears he couldn’t resist a sidelong glance to see Courtney jumping up and down with joy, Laila firmly in her grasp. Camille was pointing him out. Uh oh. Richard turned his eyes downwards to examine the damage to his shirt but a few moments later the sound of small feet caught his ears and there was a knock on the metal of the door. He glanced down to see Courtney was there – her mother now seemed to have Laila back at the front door, and she and Camille were both watching. “HELLO!” Courtney shouted. She waved a piece of paper at him. Resigned to his fate, Richard opened the door, but didn’t get out in case she tried to drag him somewhere again.

“THANK YOU!” She shouted. Then, realising her volume, repeatedly more calmly. “Thank you for finding Laila. I made this as a sorry present for calling you un-unnecessary but now would have it as a thank you?”

Richard took the paper she was holding out to him proudly. “Explain to the Inspector what it is, Courtney,” Miss Owen called across the lawn to advise her daughter.

“That is Laila,” said Courtney, pointing to the one thing Richard could have guessed the identity of. “That is me, and this is you!”

Richard examined the picture. “Why am I frowning?” He asked, feeling a little hurt.

“You are angry at me for wasting police time,” Courtney explained, as if this was logical. Richard wasn’t exactly sure how much of a thank you it was to receive a picture of him looking blatantly grumpy, but he mentally repeated the mantra of ‘it’s the thought that counts’.

“Well,” he said. “I’m never pleased when people waste police time. But right now I am happy that you are happy to have your rabbit back. You make sure you look after her.”

“I will,” she told him, nodding vigorously. “Thank you sooooooooooooo much,” she then wrapped her arms around his legs, the only part of him that she could reach. Richard patted her awkwardly on the head.

“Okay,” he said, peeling one hand away from his leg. He noted that some ink seemed to have transferred off her hand and on to his trousers. Considering the state of the rest of him, though, it was a minor issue. “Back to your mother. Detective Camille and I have police work to do.” He nodded to indicate the fact that Camille had decided he had had enough, and was walking back to the car.

“Bye bye!” Courtney cried, legging it back to the house, but stopping every few minutes to turn and wave at them.

“Aww,” said Camille, back behind the wheel. “Isn’t she a sweet girl?”

“My experience with children is so limited I will have to take your word for it,” Richard told her, mentally calculating how long it had now been since he had had a cup of tea. Too long. “Can we stop at your mother’s on the way back?”

“Yes,” said Camille. “I’ll buy you a cup of tea. You deserve it.”

“I was just doing my job.”

“Funny that,” she said, glancing at him. “You spend a lot of time earlier protesting that lost rabbits weren’t part of our job.”

“Oh just drive,” Richard told her.

“You didn’t do badly you know, with Courtney, I think given your lack of experience you are surprisingly good with children. You’d make a good father.” Richard stared at her in shock. Where the hell had that come from? He didn’t really know how to respond. Camille, perhaps sensing she had made him uncomfortable, changed the topic. “I think we should also go via your shack. You can’t wear that shirt for the rest of the day.” He nodded in agreement, and the rest of the journey was made largely in silence.

“Here we are,” she told him cheerfully. “I can wait here for a few minutes. Don’t forget your picture, you can pin it to your fridge!”

Richard snorted. “I’m not the sort of person who keeps magnets on their fridge Camille, so I have nothing to pin it on with.”

Pulling on his jacket he leaned back in the seat and immediately made a face. “What is it?” Camille immediately asked him, perhaps fearing injury from his earlier escapade.

Containing his anger, Richard replied, “I believe at some point Laila utilised the lining of my jacket to…relieve herself.”

“Oh dear,” Camille side, biting her lip to stop herself laughing. As Richard walked towards the house, with a need now to change nearly every item of clothing, he heard the giggles she had been holding in all morning finally escape her.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day Richard came in to find two things sitting neatly on his desk. One was yet another piece of A4 paper with a Courtney original artwork. It depicted him and Laila again, except this time he was smiling. The other object was black, and it was rabbit shaped. God knows how many stores Camille had scoured to find a rabbit magnet. He briefly considered sweeping it into the bin but instead reached out and pocketed it.

He had a use for it, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> No, I don’t know where this story came from.


End file.
